Pete had spent hours there - sat alone, TV on, though barely paying attention. Honestly, he was bored out've his mind. He thought about playing some music, finding a book to read, or throwing some trainers on and going for a run. Anything. But at least the boredom came with a silver lining; there was no chance of him doing something wrong; it wasn't the most fun, but it was the most safe.

Noticing how dry his mouth was, he glanced towards the sink.

For Fuck's sake, just get a drink. She can't be mad at you for drinking water. Just stand up, you'll be fine.

Despite the mental pep talk, Pete's body sank further into the cushions. They weren't comfortable, he wasn't comfortable. They were okay at first, familiar if nothing else, but the corners awkwardly dug into his back, and he was beginning to cramp. Still, he wouldn't dare move them. Creasing them was bad enough.

The clock ticked, as it did every minute, and every time Pete slightly flinched. By this point, he'd muted the TV (He can only watch the same Peaky Blinders episode so many times). The quiet was half refreshing. Opportunities to clear his mind were few and far between, and the silence made a change from the tedious background noise. That being said, it also left room for Pete's imagination to fill in the blanks, which wasn't always kind to him. Every tick became a bang, every breeze a howl.

Mercifully, Pete's phone started ringing; it was an excuse to move, and his tense muscles were more than grateful. Straightening his frame, he pressed accept without bothering to check who it was.

"Hey Bro!"

Matt. Of course it was.

"Hey.." Pete replied, a surge of relief overtaking him.

Though he'd never give Matt the satisfaction of saying it out loud, Pete had really missed his voice. It'd been a few weeks since they last spoke, which should be understandable - Riddle was a champion now, and NXT's schedule wasn't too light either. Deep down though, Pete knew he could've tried harder to see him, or even just called him. He had all the excuses ready, that being a good boyfriend and father meant less of a social life. But they were just that. Excuses.

"I almost forgot what you sounded like bro, have you been okay?"

"Yeah, course." No. "Just busy."

Matt was the closest thing to a best friend Pete had; he genuinely wanted to be more chatty, indulge in random conversations and laugh until their sides hurt. God, it'd been so long since Pete laughed.. But Matt could read him like a book. If he said too much, he'd find out.

"Are you sure..? It's just, I heard you missed promo class at the PC again? I'm worried about you.."

He knows. You let it go too far, and now he fucking knows. He'll tell Damian, because of course he will, and the whole locker room will find out. They'll all see how pathetic you are.

"M'fine." Pete grumbled. "I don't fucking need promo class." He flared.

Matt sighed down the phone - it wasn't quite anger, not even frustration. It mainly echoed concern, not that Pete deserved it. He'd love to give a logical reason for missing class, like fatherly duties, or a measly temperature. The truth however? Last week, he was lying in the bath, and couldn't bring himself to get out; the week before that, he was too exhausted after sleeping on the goddamn floor for two nights.

"You know Pete, I don't think Regal would like hearing you say that."

"Regal's not here, is he?"

Most people were used to Pete's aggression; not everyone could handle it, but expected it nonetheless. Everyone besides Pete that was. His abrasion was never intentional, yet somehow became inevitable.

"Do you wanna.. talk?" Matt asked sincerely.

Yes. "I'm good mate, seriously. Guess I've just been a bit cranky.. April's not been sleeping great."

What kind've man blames his daughter? What the fuck are you doing? Just tell him! TELL HIM!

"Well Stallion, it's your lucky day - it's my night off, so I'm taking you for a beer." Riddle said, and Pete could just hear the goofy smile on his face. "No arguments." He added.

Two friends grabbing a beer; it sounded simple, because it was, or at least should be. The offer was unknowingly weighted however, and Pete's stomach was knotting. Too much could go wrong. What if he got drunk? He might start talking, start revealing things that were better left unsaid. As sad as it was, Matt was the only real friendship in Pete's life - he couldn't risk fucking that up. No one could know.. But Matt especially.

"M-mate.. I can't leave April on her own."

"Won't Millie be home? They can have a mother/daughter night while the Broserweights take over Orlando!" Matt laughed.

If literally anyone else was asking this, Pete would shut it down in seconds. Not that anyone else would bother asking - years of distancing himself meant people stopped trying - Matt just had this annoying habit of being loyal. Pete was thankful for that really.

"...Fine. Text me which pub, I'll meet you at 8." He gave in.

"That's my guy!"

"One beer, you hear me? Just one."

"Whatever you say Bro. See you later!"

"Bye.." Pete said shakily, despising his nerves for creeping through his voice. Just tell him. "...M-Matt..?" He began, before realising he'd already hung up.

Sighing deeply, Pete once again peered towards the sink. And once again, he stayed put. That was enough bravery for one day.

Whatever you do, don't let Matt know. He's only inviting you out of pity, he doesn't actually care. What good reason does he have? You stopped calling him, he probably hates you. He hates you just like everyone else does. If you told him, he'd laugh in your face. Don't fucking tell him.

The clock ticked, he jumped.

What felt like years later, the front door unlocked, and Pete's breath simultaneously calmed down and sped up. Only a second passed before his beautiful little girl was toddling towards him, still dressed in her butterfly coat and wellies.

Leaning backwards, Pete lifted April onto his knee, his eyes lighting up from her perfect smile. Of course, he looked forward to seeing Matt later, despite the unrelenting nerves. But nothing made Pete happier than a sweet hug from his baby girl. April was easily the best thing about him; championship reigns paled in comparison to being a father.

As he unzipped April's jacket, Pete blew a silly raspberry onto her tiny forehead, causing her to laugh hysterically.

"You haven't seriously been on that couch all day?" Millie said mockingly, grabbing his attention.

Mustering a smile, Pete suppressed the embarrassment. Her judgmental eyes were a sting to the ego, but they were mostly understandable. What kind've man just stays in one place the whole fucking day? Besides, Millie looked like she'd endured a long day herself; her blue orbs were sunken in, and she was weighed down by heavy-looking grocery bags. She deserved some slack.

"W-was April alright at daycare?"

"Well your girlfriend's day was lovely, thanks so much for asking." Millie answered sarcastically.

"..M'sorry." He bowed his head.

Don't make this worse. You haven't even told her about Matt yet. Don't say anything stupid.

The blonde woman carried their shopping bags into the kitchen, rolling her eyes as she passed through the living room. Again, Pete did all he could to ignore it, focusing his attention onto April - at least she looked happy to see him.

Keeping an eye on his girlfriend, he let April playfully tug on his hair whilst mentally building up courage.

"Mil..? Please can you get me a drink?"

"Christ's sake Pete, can you not do anything for yourself?" Millie snapped, slamming a cupboard door shut.

Pete flinched, more visibly than he would've liked. Not in front of April anyway; she deserved a daddy like Superman, not the scared little boy he often felt like.

"It.. it's okay, I'll come do it."

Lifting April onto her play-mat and passing her a teddy, Pete cautiously walked to the sink. This was the first time he'd moved in about six hours. Thinking about it now, he was so stupid; anyone can fill a glass with water. No wonder he only had one friend left, the rest of them probably got tired of his bullshit. What kind've man braves wrestling matches, but ends up frightened of a fucking drink?

Taking a gulp, Pete realised just how dehydrated he must've been. Between that and the muscle cramps, his body really didn't thank him. Nor did his mind to be honest.

"Give me your wallet." Millie instructed, holding out her hand expectantly.

Without hesitation, he reached into his jean pocket and passed it over. Maybe he ought to question her motives, but ultimately, he didn't want the argument - he was too run down, too drained of energy. Besides, April was in the room; above anyone else, she didn't need to see how their arguments ended.

Gleefully taking two £20 notes from him, Millie handed back the empty wallet.

"For the shopping." She stated.

"I.. I thought you were-"

"You thought I was paying? Wow, I really found a gentleman, didn't I?"

"You know I don't mind!" He defended, his guard raising. "It's just.. well, that was for tonight."

Bracing himself, he knew Millie wouldn't like this.

"Tonight?" She raised an eyebrow.

"Um.. yeah, I was gonna tell you. Matt asked me out for a few beers."

Instinctively, Pete took a few steps backwards, his shoulders leaning inwards. Her face said it all - the arched brows, that scowl which could make anyone feel uneasy - she was pissed. Look what you've done now, you really can't help fucking up can you? Now April is gonna see, she'll see how useless her dad is, and soon everyone else will too. Well fucking done.

"Please don't be angry.." he shivered, mumbling under his breath.

Millie scoffed. "You make that frickin' difficult. I thought we were gonna spend the night together?"

"I.. I won't be out for long. I've promised him I'll go."

"Oh, well if you've promised, that changes everything - who cares if you have a girlfriend and daughter at home, right?"

Just don't look upwards, don't let her see you frightened. You'll make it worse, you always do. Stay quiet, stay fucking quiet, don't you dare move a muscle. You've been still on that couch since waking up, you can stop fidgeting for an extra five minutes. Even someone like you can manage that. Just stop. Fucking. Moving.

"Do what you want Pete, you always do." She huffed, barging past his tense body to go upstairs.

Once Millie's presence left the room, Pete's chest nearly exploded from his exhale; he didn't even know it was possible to hold so much breath. Feeling dizzy from the sensation, he lowered himself onto the floor, hunching over to help with the breathing. Dark thoughts were creeping around his brain; they did everyday, it was nothing new. But they also progressively got worse.

Pete struck himself across the side of the head. Pathetic. Pathetic. Pathetic.

"Da-ddy?"

Eyes flickering upwards, Pete was mortified to see April stood there. The thought of those innocent eyes watching him smack himself.. what if she copied him? However, rather adorably, she held out her beloved teddy bear, offering it to her daddy. With a soft smile, he accepted the gift, and held Mr Cheesecake (April's choice of name) close to his heart. Suddenly , he didn't feel so bad.

Avoiding eye contact with the mirror, Pete dragged a comb through his hair. Millie was putting April to bed, and the quiet felt no less intimidating than before. Soon enough, he'd be in a busy pub atmosphere, with enough hustle and bustle to stay distracted. Besides, the entertaining stories of Matt Riddle would be a welcomed change from daily life. Even so, the dread of coming home afterwards was stronger than any kind've excitement Pete had.

Clunkily standing up, the reflection of Pete's torso caught him off guard; he wasn't sure where the wrestling bruises ended and the home-life battle scars began.

Why do you let her do this? She's barely 5'4, you're the goddamn Bruiserweight! You could stop her if you tried, but you just take it! Imagine what people would say, how hard they'd laugh at you. Nobody would ever take you seriously in WWE again, not if they knew your pathetic little secret. Regal, Hunter, Shawn; they'd all lose their faith in you. Hell, their belief in you now is nothing but a fucking scam.

Embarrassed from the sight, the wounded man scrambled to hide the evidence, throwing a shirt on. He looked at the clock, 7:26pm - time to set off.

Turning around, Millie was stood in the doorframe. Strangely, her expression was.. Soft? Dare he say, close to apologetic? She walked over, delicately wrapping her arms around Pete's waist. Despite intuitively concealing a flinch, he was genuinely grateful to have this; it minimised the fear of returning later on. Above anything else though, at one point, Pete fell in love with this woman. Maybe she wasn't gone completely..?

"I'm sorry about earlier.. I shouldn't have snapped at you." She whispered, squeezing him tighter.

With a sigh, Pete lightly hugged her back, tracing his hands along her back. Once upon a time, this was how they always were; a picture perfect, intimate, beautiful couple. There wasn't anything Pete wouldn't give to start over, to stop himself from screwing up their relationship into whatever it's since become.

"I'm sorry too.." He said, kissing the top of her forehead. "I love you."

"I love you too." Millie repeated. "..We need to start being better, Pete. I don't want to lose you, and April deserves us both."

He wasn't lying; he did love her; this version of her anyway. But he still couldn't relax in her embrace. Of course, the uncommon apologies and tender affections were nice while they lasted, but they soon ended. It wouldn't be long before Pete fucked up and caused another fight. Granted, it was never intentional, but always somehow his fault.

"Come on.. I wanna make it up to you.." Millie smiled, taking his hands and guiding them both to their bed.

I don't want to.

"I.. I have to go, Mil. I'm going out, r-remember..?"

There it was: their next fight.

As she folded her arms, clearly upset by his rejection, Pete's breath hitched. Hardly ever did he refuse her, usually to keep the peace. Tonight would've been no different if he didn't have plans. Not knowing what to say, he just kept stuttering, which visibly fuelled Millie's temper.

"We haven't spent the night together in weeks, and you'd rather go out and get wasted?" She spat.

"When I get back.. We could.."

What are you doing?! Any man would kill to be in your position - having a beautiful woman who wants him so much. Why are you turning her away? Because you're just not in the mood? There's something wrong with you.

"When you get back? Why should I play second fiddle to that stoner freak?" Millie continued. "Awww Pete, is that it? Do you fancy him? Would you rather fuck him than me?" she said in a sarcastic baby voice, seemingly to humiliate him.

"I.. Please, Mil. I'll bring home some wine or something. We can watch a film, make a real night of it!"

Please don't make me. I don't want to.

Then you're pathetic.

"Are you cheating on me?" She asked coldly.

"What? No!"

Hysterically, Millie grabbed Pete's collar and began shaking him; the fear in his eyes was obvious, not that she paid attention. There were mumbled, stuttered pleas for her to stop, but they fell on deaf ears.

"I bet you're not even meeting him! You're meeting some random slut!"

By this point, Millie was crying wildly; Pete wanted to, he just wouldn't let himself. The shaking got worse, and he fell to one knee before her. Denying the accusations meant nothing - they weren't true - but Millie's mind was fixated and couldn't be changed.

"You don't want me because you've found a bimbo to fuck?!"

Being shaken turned into repeated smacks around the head. He attempted to cower away, but she was cruelly incessant.

"Please.. Stop." He begged in between the strikes.

"Why should I?"

Her voice was scratchy, like her vocal chords were drenched in tears. An accusatory tone was evident in every little thing she said, like all of this was Pete's own doing. Taking a fist of his hair, Millie yanked his head back, and raised her opposite fist to punch him.

"I'll do it!" He screamed, completely terrified. "I.. I'll do it.. I'll stay home.."

With a demeaning, bitter chuckle, Millie untangled her fingers from Pete's hair. He was whimpering, hiding his face away from her. Frightened tears threatened to pierce through his eyelashes, but he swiftly blinked them away. Don't fucking cry, you've embarrassed yourself enough.

"Fine." Millie said. "But you'll have to do a lot of work to get me in the mood after that."

Her glance felt so degrading, but he was used to that. At least the hitting was over. Walking to their bed, Pete mentally prepared himself. You've done this so many times before. You'll be okay. Just close your eyes, imagine you're somewhere else; it'll be over soon, and she'll fall asleep. We can get through this..

God, you're so fucking broken. Pathetic.